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It was nearly two weeks since my overnight with Bart. The episode was very much on my mind when I awoke at six thirty that morning with a hard-on as stubborn as any I’d had back in my twenties.
I lay in bed for most of an hour patiently waiting for it to go down. Eventually giving up, I decided it was time for some coffee.
It was unrepentant, lewdly bobbing and waggling under my belly as I plodded to the kitchen to start a pot.
Standing idly by until enough had run through to pour off a partial cup, I reached up for one only to painfully blunt the damn thing against the top drawer of the lower cabinet. It hurt like a son of a bitch.
I stepped back to take a look, just to make sure there was no damage…to the drawer, I mean. My rock hard cock remained obliviously unfazed by the blow. I filled my mug half way just to have something to sip on while the coffee maker finished and lumbered off to my den.
I set my mug on the end table and settled back into my sofa to gather my wits. The rigid thing landed on my belly and the head came to rest up next to my navel.
It’s persistence began to annoy me. Bart’s job as a geological surveyor had him away on business for at least another week so I knew there was no relief to be found with him.
Wrapping the damn thing in my fist I began to pump it. Before long it exploded in eight blasts.
The first one managed to reach my face. Next I arced two up past my right shoulder, partially spattering the wall behind me.
The remaining five streaked only my chest and belly and the final throes of my orgasm merely oozed what was left down onto my fist. I grabbed a Kleenex and cleaned it off.
It started to deflate as I stood to grab some more tissues and begin cleaning the wall. I was relieved. Then, when I saw the Jackson Pollock masterpiece I’d created behind me, the damn thing started to throb and erect yet again.
Accepting my defeat I ran a couple of fingers through the streaks beginning to mat my belly hair and sucked them clean. I then left for the kitchen to dampen a dish towel and give the wall a proper scrub down.
At some point while doing that I realized its appetite for stimulation had been sated…it was dangling flaccid. When I finished I ran the damp cloth over my torso as well.
Barely thirty minutes later I found myself once again recalling the potent ass fuck Bart had given me on his post hole digger of a cock two weeks before…in detail.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the weight of his big body on me. It made the scrub brush coarseness of his dense body hair feel so good co-mingling with my much finer and softer hirsuteness.
The next thing I knew I was looking down at my cock head resting back up on my belly.
“Dammit! This is ridiculous!” I thought.
I finished off the pot and decided to go out for breakfast. Maybe being out in public would shame it into submission.
After a quick shower I put on a pair of my baggiest slacks and the sport shirt with the longest tail I could find, which I left out. I never do that.
Whenever I see guys my age with their shirttail out in public I always think they’re trying to reclaim some long-faded youth. It never occurred to me they might be trying to conceal unruly hard-ons. I had to laugh.
After breakfast it was nine thirty. I sat in my car…and adjusted my stiff cock to arc out over my left thigh. It appeared no mere hand, including my own, was going to give the damn thing what it was after. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and tried to devise a plan.
I thought of the adult bookstore on a desolate stretch of interstate about an hour south of town. Rarely had I done such things in the past, but there was no sense going an hour north into the city at that early hour. I took off to see if some relief might be found there.
When I arrived I saw no cars and only two semis parked outside. I thought with any luck maybe one of the two truckers who drove them might be gay, or at least bi. I parked, got out and nervously shuffled up to the front door.
Instinctively I looked over my shoulder before pulling it open. Something about those places always made me feel dirty.
I hadn’t been separated from my job long enough yet to stop worrying that some college official might inadvertently drive by, spotting me vanish through the doorway of this den of iniquity. Seeing none I quickly stepped inside.
My eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lighting and I saw a man aged thirty-something, about Bart’s size, browsing the anal section of the straight shelves. His hands were huge and his cowboy boots were noticeably bigger than my size twelve loafers.
My dick liked what I saw. However, my better judgement told me that a wrong step with a man his size could get me seriously injured at my age.
I looked for the other one. He was nowhere to be seen on the straight side so I ambled over to the gay shelves.
When I located the bear DVDs a black fellow in his early forties who looked like he’d stepped right off the cover Maltepe travesti of Bear magazine strolled up, seemingly out of nowhere, and stood beside me.
He was a little shorter than me, maybe five feet nine or ten inches, bearded, about 200 pounds and a little stocky. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, faded jeans and Coleman lace-up work boots. He checked me out, too.
After clearing his throat he walked off, heading to the counter and making sure I saw him buy some tokens. With a look over his shoulder at me, he vanished through the curtain that hung in the doorway to the hall containing the private viewing booths.
He was handsome and looked promising. I gave him time to get situated, then bought a few tokens myself and went to look for him.
My white sport shirt glowed bright purple under the black lights that dimly illuminated the hall. The doors were all open. I slowly walked forward, fishing to see if I got a nibble from him.
“Over here, big daddy,” I heard a deep voice rumble out in a southern drawl about half way down.
I felt a tinge of guilt for what I was doing, but the words ‘big daddy’ had exactly the eager ring to them I was listening for. Experience has taught me that men who openly regard me that way usually make very accommodating and energetic bottoms, which was exactly what I needed in that particular moment.
I scanned the doorways for the one it had come from. A Coleman boot slipped out into view from one slightly behind and to my right. I backed up a couple of steps and peered in. It was him.
The booths were smaller than I remembered…and I was a good thirty pounds lighter than the last time I’d been there. He sat inside and smiled up at me, tucking his feet under him and drawing his knees together.
“I need a mouth…you game?” I nervously asked in a hushed tone.
“You read my mind,” he softly affirmed.
I stepped in, straddling his legs, and pulled the door closed behind me. It was a damn tight fit and it made contact with my big haunches as it latched shut.
“Unbutton your shirt,” he nearly whispered, “I got to get my hands on that belly!”
I followed his instruction and my shirt fell away to my sides. His hands were on it in a flash and he moaned like a bitch in heat as he groped me, darting his tongue into my deep navel.
“Round…firm,” he sighed.
The massaging action of his fingers felt great. As he satisfied his curiosity with it my eyes closed and my cock strained in my slacks. He slid a hand down and traced it over the length of my hard-on.
“You got a nice dick, daddy,” he said, sounding like an addict who had just scored.
He started fumbling with my belt buckle. The confines were so shallow given my nearly 270 pounds of bulk that the underside of my belly pressed on his forehead to practically pin the back of his head to the wall.
In a minute my pants dropped and he ripped my boxers down around my thighs. My raging hard-on sprang out for his inspection.
“Get a load of you!” he said, sounding excited.
“You just read my mind,” I told him as I felt his full lips slip over my glans, his wiry mustache abrading it most pleasurably.
I had a condom in my pocket and had intended to make him slip it on me, but he’d been too eager and I was too in need to heed my better judgment by interrupting him. I let him continue.
Reaching up to hold onto the exposed tops of the dividers I started humping into him. The back of his head began to knock at the plywood behind it.
He didn’t complain or struggle, but my sense of decency made me bring my left hand down and slip it behind his head; mostly for his comfort, but also to reduce the noise in all honesty.
My dick was punishingly erect and, having already pumped up a big load maybe three hours earlier, its stamina was boundless. I drilled my hungry mark on it without mercy as he wrapped his right hand around its base.
I brought my left hand around and pulled his loose from it by the wrist.
“No hands,” I instructed him and then slipped mine back behind his head.
He obeyed and started playing with my balls instead.
About fifteen minutes into the non-stop pounding I felt my right hand begin to tingle due to its elevated position. I brought it down and held his head firmly in both hands while I powered into the grip of his tight suction.
He was a very noisy and compliant sucker, exactly the way I like them for these completely anonymous encounters. He reached around my butt and dug his fingers into my cheeks, kneading them with fervor.
Every time he adapted to the depth of my penetration and his gag reflex settled down, I dug a little deeper until I heard him being challenged again. Still he didn’t struggle against my grip on him, nor did he attempt to recoil from me. He faced each new challenge with an admirable display of bravery.
Several minutes later my back began to tire from the force of my constant humping. I lifted my right hand back on top of the divider and used my Ümraniye travesti left one to palm the back of his head like a volleyball.
I then began working his mouth on my cock like a masturbation sleeve. Again I met no resistance. His neck completely relaxed and I settled in, reveling in his submission.
Time vanished as I sated my primal lust in the tight suction of his mouth. He kept his hands on my ass and dug his fingers in harder and harder. Eventually working them into my crack far enough that my cheeks parted, I felt a rush of refrigerated air on my sphincter.
Deeper and deeper I dug into him until at last I could feel my cock head bumping against his gullet. His throat began to make those thrilling noises like it might open up for me at any moment.
I began firmly pressing for entry. He didn’t struggle, but he wasn’t taking me in either.
Some men have commented that I’m little thicker than they’re used to throating. So, I began pulling him toward me with slightly greater force to help him. He seemed hungry for it.
Suddenly I heard that joyous noise I have no words to describe and I felt his throat slip over my glans. I pressed his face to my belly and he began milking me more fiercely than I’d ever felt.
I praised his accomplishment until he brought his hands around and tapped out on my thighs. Letting him up for air, I listened as it noisily rushed in and out through his nostrils.
When it sounded like he was ready for more I pressed him back down. He yielded more easily that time but the milking action was just as agitated and intense as before, if not more so.
I cheered his effort until he tapped out again and, once more, I let him up. He was giving me the most electrifying throat action I’d ever felt, but still my balls hung loose in my sac.
I pressed him to me for a third go ’round. This time he coupled the fierce grip of his throat with a slight bobbing motion. I felt my balls tightening up, but he tapped out yet again before I could reach the Promised Land.
“I think one more should do the trick,” I told him, “Work that bobbing action harder…it feels great!”
I felt the sting of his teeth as he tried to nod his head with his mouth stuffed on my dick.
Pulling him in till his forehead burrowed into the underside of my taut paunch, I felt his chin sink into my scrotum.
He took me down with the greatest of ease that time and began milking me with a more measured rhythm, mixing it with the more exaggerated bobbing motion I’d requested. I felt his saliva stream out onto my balls and they drew up tight.
“Here it comes!” I informed him.
About four blasts shot down his pipe straight into his belly before he tapped out for the last time. I let him up and put the rest in his mouth.
I began to laugh from the sense of release and felt my belly bumping his forehead as it shook. He didn’t budge from my cock until my gland began to hurt and I tapped out on the back of his head.
He pulled off me and peered up over my belly at me. The expression on his face was difficult to read.
“You give some fine throat,” I said, appreciatively digging my fingers into the tight nap of his short hair.
He looked at my dick and then cast his eyes back up to mine as he chuckled, “I didn’t give nothin’…you just took it, daddy.”
With that he nuzzled his face to my belly.
I suddenly realized that his frantic milking action wasn’t quite the special talent I’d credited him with. It was the instinctive reaction of a man in shock…maybe even fearing a little for his life at first.
Gently stroking his head I apologetically explained, “Hey, buddy…I’m really sorry…I never meant to play rough, I promise. You just went down so easy…I thought…it was what you wanted.”
He tried to slump back away from me against the wall and then laughed, “I reckon it was, daddy…I reckon it was. I just didn’t know it till you got me there. Don’t you worry…I had the time of my life!”
“Me too!” I assured him with a friendly chuckle.
He pulled my shorts and slacks up for me and I quickly closed up, then buckled my belt. After buttoning up my shirt I reached back and opened the door behind me.
When I backed out he rose up on one haunch and fished a hanky from his back pocket. He stuck his boots out the door and reached for his zipper.
I couldn’t resist waiting to see what he had. When it popped up through his fly it was hard as a rock but, breaking with stereotype, was the most meager helping of adult cock I’ve ever seen.
He smiled as he eyed me up and down one last time and then drew his feet in, “Mind closing the door for me?”
“You bet. And thanks, again…you did great,” I said with a wink as I pushed it to.
The big trucker eyed me as I came out through the curtain and I could see he was contemplating making the trip himself.
I decided to give him my unused tokens, checking out the cock-thick fingers of his enormous mitt as they tumbled into it. I grinned and hoped for Tuzla travesti the sake of my little bear’s newly deflowered throat that he wasn’t hung as fat as Bart.
I got in the car and saw I had been there not quite an hour.
Deciding to stop by my house to throw an overnight bag together for bear night, I drove on up to get a motel room across the street from Trax. There would be plenty of time for a nap and lots of dining options to tempt my taste buds before it started.
By 3 p.m. I was in my room and stretched out butt naked on the bed. My spent cock remained limp, it’s hunger for human contact fully sated.
I woke up around four forty five and saw it standing tall again.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I said out loud and then laughed at my choice of words.
I rolled off the bed and grabbed a quick shower to freshen up for the evening. To my relief I was flaccid again by the time I dressed for dinner.
I hit a great Italian place around the corner from the motel and then went to a local coffee shop down the street for dessert and a double shot of espresso. I was sitting at a table outside when Mike came strolling by.
“Hi, Mr…Matt!” he said, clearly surprised and lighting up at the sight of me.
“How you doing, Mr. Mike,” I said with a laugh.
“Great!” he shot back, seating himself at my table.
“Just get out of class?” I asked, noticing his book.
“Oh…no. Been at the library,” he explained, “What brings you up?”
He looked confused.
“At Trax?” I clarified.
“Yeah, um…that’s not till next week,” he said, then broke out laughing at whatever my expression revealed to him.
“I guess I’m losing my grip on the calendar since retiring,” I sheepishly offered in explanation.
“Hey! I’ve got no plans I can’t break tonight if you’d like to…you know…hang out…and…help me sort through some of this…gay stuff,” he suggested.
“Looks like I’ve got some time on my hands,” I replied, to his delight.
“Really?!” he asked in near disbelief that I would take him up, “Those are my apartments right there.”
He pointed at an older complex across the street and down a bit as he asked, “Give me about an hour?”
“Sure,” I said, then steered him away from the idea of hosting me by saying, “I’m at Stonehill Motor Lodge around the corner, room 23B on the second floor. I’ll wait for you there.”
“Fantastic! 23B! See you in an hour!” he exclaimed and bounded off.
I went back to my room and turned on the TV. Kicking off my shoes I sank back into the small sofa and lifted my feet onto the coffee table.
The next thing I knew I was awakened by a knock at my door. I bolted up, surprised that I’d fallen asleep, and rushed to answer it.
I suddenly thought to check the condition of my rowdy cock before opening up. To my relief it was still flaccid.
“Hi, Mike. Come on in,” I welcomed him.
He came in with his head kind of bowed as though he was entering the great and powerful Oz’s lair.
“Smart get up,” he said, pointing at my clothes, “You always dress so handsome.”
“Thank you,” I said, assessing the way his stylish shirt bloused over the waistband of the unbelted Levi’s he’d tucked it into, “You look mighty dapper, too. Any place you’d like to go?”
He spied my rumpled bed covers and stared at them, then caught himself and said, “All the places I go to are student hang outs. They’re very loud. Why don’t you pick. Someplace quiet? Where we can talk?”
“I think I know just the place. Come on. I’ll drive us there.”
“My gay friends are all real big on hugging…can I give you one?” he asked.
I opened my arms and invited him in for it. He had to bend a bit at the waist to accommodate my belly as he wrapped his arms around my chest.
His hands managed to more than overlap around it, but not by much. I reciprocated by folding my arms around his much narrower shoulders.
“You’re so big,” he sighed, “even bigger than my dad.”
He clearly still had his ‘boy’s first crush’ on his bear of a dad.
After he released me I opened the door and said, “Shall we?”
When we got downstairs I pointed the key fob at my car and popped the door locks.
“Nice car,” he observed, then with a smile, “Exactly what I would’ve thought you drove. Only the necessary luxury appointments…nothing ostentatious…just like you.”
“Thanks,” I said, grinning at his innuendo, “Got it last semester. A retirement gift for myself, I guess.”
I drove us across town to a gay bar called Jimbo’s Hideaway, which I really prefer to Trax. It’s a very modestly appointed place that caters to us older cats; a lot quieter but without being suggestive of romance, in spite of its name.
I got us a booth so we could turn sideways and kind of stretch out while we chatted. Opening a tab I ordered us each a beer.
“So, what’s on your mind, Mike?” I asked.
“I don’t know…being out…it’s all so…new. I mean, it’s nice…not having to hide and all…but I…still don’t feel like…I fit in,” he said.
“How so?” I asked.
“My friends…they’re all attracted to…guys in our age group. They’re always trying to hook me up with guys that I’m…just not interested in,” he said, looking out the corner of his eye for my reaction.
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